


Of The Good, The Bad And The Silver Lining

by PastelBlueDahlia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Sex, Angst, Blackmail, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Mafia AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Smut, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBlueDahlia/pseuds/PastelBlueDahlia
Summary: „Do you want to talk or see me on the pole?“„I get the feeling, Katsuki-san, that both would be surprisingly entertaining.“ he purrs, darting his eyes to Yuuri‘s boxer briefs before looking back up to his face. And Yuuri, the son of the most powerful yakuza family grips the pole with both hands, wrapping his legs around it and bending his back as anticipation makes his knees weak and goosebumps bloom on his skin, all for this simple hooker, and the situation is so bizarre and surreal a laugh rocks through him, so hard and uncontrollable and suddenly he is afraid he will lose his grip and fall.- - - - -When Yuuri meets Viktor he is mesmerized. But he didn't know that Viktor hid a part of himself, and soon Yuuri gets an offer he just can't refuse





	Of The Good, The Bad And The Silver Lining

 

 

 

As soon as Yuuri get out of the car he steps into a puddle.  
  
The water immediately soaks through his leather shoe, his sock uncomfortable drenched in dirty rainwater. He looks down at his foot, the gentle pitter-patter of water all time present. The puddle locks jet black, almost like oil. He clicks his tongue and Nishigori makes a step towards him, worried, as if he has to protect Yuuri from a little water.  
  
He almost wants to laugh because it‘s just such a fitting metaphor. Yuuri hates his place, and he wishes he wouldn‘t have to come here, but declining is not an option at this point. It feels like Yuuri's whole body is underwater, pressure on his chest that makes it hard to breathe, water in his lungs, limbs heavy and slow. But he got used to feeling this way.  
  
Nishigori holds the umbrella up for him as he walks with long, sure strides to the glass door, the light streaming out in warm beams.  
  
The door gets opened from the inside, and he doesn‘t even glance at the person. He nods quickly at the hotel receptionist, his wet shoe making unpleasant, squeaking noises on the flawless white marble floor, leaving wet prints. Yuuri feels his face contorting.  
  
The elevator is roomy, the walls covered in mirrors and Yuuri stares at his own reflection, sees the dark circles under his eyes and tries to smooth out the crinkles on his forehead. Nishigori presses the button to the top floor and Yuuri sighs, crosses his arms in front of his chest and taps his foot impatiently. He just wants to get this over with.  
  
The elevator dings and Yuuri takes a deep breath as the door opens. He looks into the mirror and takes the room in before he turns around, followed by Nishigori as he steps into the room.  
  
There are thick billows of smoke in the air that break the light almost prettily, but he still has to suppress a cough, knowing his suit will smell terribly when he finally gets out of here and can breathe freely again.

Everywhere are groups of yakuza sitting in darkened corners, watching as the men and women wrap their bodies around the poles. He hates this, but he has to socialize, has to let them know he is there, he‘s a threat and can ruin them if they don‘t keep their eyes on him. And he has to show the people who are in his group that he is there, that they are safe because there is nothing more important than bonds, trust and loyalty. This is what is parents engraved into his brain, and he hates himself for repeating these words over and over again in his head when he‘s stuck in situations like this.  
  
The men and women are wearing oriental clothes in bright colors, their legs covered in something that reminds him of harem pants, fitted crop tops that show off their thin waists, puffy sleeves , hair done up in a ponytail. Honestly, it looks like someone tried to celebrate an Aladdin themed children birthday. Yuuri sneers, because this just fits to Kazuya.  
  
Nishigori helps Yuuri out of his coat and hands it to the staff. She nods devotedly, nervously and takes their coats away. Of course she could be nervous because of Yuuri‘s presence, but it‘s always better to be safe than sorry, so he slides the sleeve of his suit up and turns his watch to the inner side of his wrist, taps once against it and then goes to mix himself under the other group members.  
  
He and Nishigori had developed this type of communication method after his father had told him an old story while drunk, wiping the tears out of the corners of his eyes as he told them how the head of a group that now doesn‘t exits anymore couldn‘t whisper and practically told everyone in the room confidential things, and how he and every other yakuza in the room heard him whisper his plan of poison the drinks, which led to his death naturally because everyone made him drink their own cups. Yuuri hated this story, and he always practiced whispering with Nishigori until he came to the conclusion that no word at all would be the best way to communicate surrounded by enemies. A secret language no one could understand except them.  
  
Yuuri just can‘t risk getting bugged, and it wouldn‘t be the first time Yuuri‘s intuition was right, saving himself and his group trouble.  
  
He knows that he can trust Nishigori with it, and the people here are not stupid enough to kill the heir of the biggest yakuza group in Japan, so he breathes out slowly and drops his tensed shoulders. And then there are still his guns and hidden knifes if something goes wrong. Yuuri tries to concentrate on his gun holsters, tries to bring the weight and position of his guns back into mind, tries to be more conscious of them. Two gun in the holsters, wrapped around his shoulders, one gun at his right calf, knifes on his left. It‘s going to be okay.

The closer he gets to a pole the denser gets the smoke. He wanders around aimlessly, searching for familar faces, greeting them and then gets to the next table where hopefully there will be less smoke. He hates this.  
  
The pole dancers are clothed differently than the staff, the puffy sleeves and their pants now see through with chiffon, eyes black with make up and the lower half of their face covered with a thin chiffon veil, so sheer it makes the little smirks they send Yuuri visible.  
  
Then he sees a movement in the dim light, a hand waving, and with delight he notices it‘s one of his father‘s old friends, Edogawa.  
  
Yuuri looks around briefly, but it seems like Nishigori hasn‘t returned yet, so he gets closer and sits next to him. Back then he always laughed loudly, and to Yuuri it always sounded too loud, too sudden, too frightening. Now he only smiles this little crooked smile, and his hands are wrinkly and shaking the tiniest bit. The prosthesis on his pinky is gold, and Yuuri wonders if he wears it today since he is with his group members or because the police would never dare to put him into prison after what he had done in Kobe after the big earthquake in 1995.  
  
Now he doesn‘t look like the man with enormous tactical skill his father can't stop gushing about. He doesn‘t look like the man who kept him awake as a child after their first meeting because he was so scared of this loud, grinning man who‘s face contorted in his dreams into a grotesque face with a huge mouth that would devour him, all while laughing like a maniac.  
  
Now he just looks like an old man with an odd gold prosthesis. Now Yuuri‘s heart aches with something like sympathy and pity, and he wants to bundle him up in a blanket, press some hot tea into his shaking hands and drive him to his dad so they could talk about old times, and Yuuri would sit beside them and watch with delight as his father rejuvenates to a man in his twenties, blushing and scratching the back of his head, his back straight as he slowly fills Edogawa‘s sake cup.  
  
Yuuri knows this won‘t happen, but it‘s easy to forget sometimes when faces appear in front of you you only think of as ghosts now.

They talk about his dad, and then silently watch the pole dancers. After some time Yuuri notices that they can‘t even properly pole dance like this, not when the skin on their legs is covered with this smooth material that doesn‘t give any friction. So they walk slowly around the pole, smirking, showing off their bodies. It should look seductive, but to Yuuri it only looks boring. It isn't his first time coming to a place like this, and it won't be the last time.  
  
He can‘t help but sigh. Edogawa winks at him sympathetically.  
  
After a while a woman approaches them, dancer and not staff, smiling coyly as her eyes flicker nervously between them as she suggests to play poker. Pretty quickly a couple of Yuuri‘s group members and dancers sit down together, cards dealt out by a man with bony, white fingers.  
  
Suddenly there is a firm press on his shoulder, a metallic noise so close to his ear, his blood freezes and spikes in his veins and he whips his head around, expecting a gun, a knife, _something._  
  
„Yuuri, right? Let me play too!“ he exclaims cheerfully, and all Yuuri sees is white and gold. He walks around the couch and sits directly besides Yuuri, irritatingly close and their knees bumping against each other as he takes his cards into his hands with a bright smile. Yuuri has to close his parted lips deliberately. He has changed.  
  
„Katsuki,“ he corrects after an eternity, and the man looks at him questioningly, face open and red lip parted like a child. _F_ _ake_. „It‘s rude calling someone you just met by their first name.“ he says and looks straight into these blue eyes.  
  
„Katsuki-san?“he asks beaming, „It‘s nice to meet you!“ and he stretches his pale hand out in an unnecessary graceful gesture, expecting Yuuri to shake it. Yuuri‘s gaze drops to his hand and he furrows his brows irritated. Then he looks back into his smiling face and takes it hesitantly, pressing his hand tightly, the way he had learned to deal with westerners to show confidence and sureness. If you know how then there is nothing easier than tricking someones mind, especially through little unconscious things.

His smile widens.

He doesn‘t wear pants but a chiffon, sheer floor lenght skirt with a color gradient, the end of it more sparkling with rhinestones and more amber colored. Under it he wears shorts, nothing more than a panty. His crop top is shorter, tighter and fits better, sprinkled with tiny golden and yellow rhinestones and glitter that catches the light with each movement. Gold on very limb, on his wrists, his calves, and a chain that connects the chiffon choker with his skirt, which makes it look complicated. Yuuri has to admit that he looks gorgeous, but especially the gold chain reminds him more of a dog than anything.  
  
His long silvery hair is done up in a high ponytail and falls down his back and shoulders, almost unnatural in its perfectness. A light chiffon veil covers the lower half of his face which makes his blue eyes gleam hotly.  
  
Yuuri tries to concentrate on the game, but he can‘t help and watch the man beside him. How long has it been since he last saw him? He looks different now, more cheerful, but Yuuri could never forget him. He feels his cheeks heat up when he thinks about how often he had thought about him without even knowing his name, how often he had thought about his hands and lips.  
  
The dancers seem to lose deliberately and whine with high voices, exaggerated. Annoying. Yuuri thinks it‘s to flatter him and the others, but when the first top comes of he understands.  
  
He can‘t help but sigh quietly.  
  
„Not a fan of strip poker?“ and he smiles as he asks under the thin fabric that covers his face.  
  
„Not really.“ Yuuri answers truthfully and leans back against the couch, crossing his arms. The man leans back too, nudging their shoulders and crossing his legs gracefully, his intertwined hands on his knee. He lets his eyes roam hungrily over Yuuri‘s body, his lips twitching into a smirk and as he stops by Yuuri‘s eyes.

„What a shame.“ he purrs lowly, staring at Yuuri. His eyes glint dangerously, and Yuuri leans forward, getting away from him since he is next.

More clothes get taken off slowly, accompanied by whistling and laughing, by compliments and grabbing, greedy hands. But despite having someone already in their lap their eyes flicker to the platinum blonde man next to Yuuri, and their smile falters only for a split-second before they concentrate on their own personal dancer again.  
  
And even though Yuuri tries to deny it he notices how his own eyes get drawn in by the man. Something about him is different. He is not humble, not full of devotion birthed by fear of the power and violence of the yakuza. His eyes don‘t flicker, he doesn‘t laugh too loud, he is clam, smirking, flirting, like he knows what the others are thinking already and he has the utmost fun looking through them like glass. He is pompous. Used to be worshiped, used to being seen as an equal.  
  
Edogawa talks with him over something, and Yuuri looks around. It seems like by every booth they are playing the same game, or rather, have played it. Men are groping the dancers and laughing resonates in the dim lit room, barely visible through the smoke and shadows.  
  
„Nowhere to escape.“ gets purred into Yuuri‘s ear, a hot breath leaving his skin tingling. Yuuri‘s head snaps back to him and he smiles almost secretive, blue eyes glinting with something Yuuri can‘t name. Or rather, didn‘t expect to see on such a face, in such a place. Yuuri was used to seeing these eyes by old, wrinkly men, most of their bodies tattooed, the ones where fingers were cut off and they didn‘t even bother to hide this fact, the ones whose backs were straight, strong, intimidating, used to looking down at others. Predatory eyes of someone who knows he has already won.  
  
Yuuri watches with furrowed brows as the others get pulled off into corridors, while others guide their little playthings to the elevator. Edogawa winks at him, his wrinkly hand placed at the small of the back of a young man with narrow shoulders. So they are hookers.  
  
„Looks like we‘re alone now.“ he notes, pressing his leg more firmly against Yuuri‘s. His eyes flicker to their legs and then back into his face.

„What a shame.“ Yuuri parrots, and he chuckles.  
  
„I‘m Viktor,“ he says then, unasked and holds his hand out again for Yuuri to take it. This time Yuuri only glares at him from under his lashes, and he feels something like irritation or confusion well up inside him as Viktor‘s smile doesn‘t even falter for a second. „If you want we could play our own personal round of poker.“ he purrs, chin tilted up.  
  
So Yuuri asks:“Is that an innuendo?“  
  
Viktor‘s eyes are sparkling with mirth.  
  
„Do you want it to be?“  
  
Yuuri thinks about rolling his eyes, but he decides to glare.  
  
„Bad day?“ he asks as he roams over his cards with his eyes, holding them gracefully like a fan. Yuuri hums which is usually a sign that he doesn‘t want to be bothered or talked to, but either Viktor doesn‘t know this or he flat out ignores it.  
  
„You stepped into a puddle on your way here, right?“ he asks and lays a card, „I bet you would‘ve had enough time to change them,“ Yuuri looks up from his cards, „But you also seem to not like this place or care at all.“  
  
„Are you always looking at a man‘s shoes first?“ he asks in a way that is not a question and looks at him from under his lashes. He knows people get uneasy when he does this, and it seems to work because Viktor‘s eyes widen and his lips part slightly, but he starts smirking not even a second later. Yuuri is almost amazed by the amount of control he has over his facial expression, remaining surprisingly calm.  
  
He leans forward, his voice low and raspy, eyes big and blue,“Do you want to know what I look at first?“  
  
„I get the feeling I don‘t want to know.“

„You‘re cruel, Katsuki-san.“ he says, and something in his voice sounds so very different from the pompous man from before, so Yuuri‘s eyes dart to his face immediately. It seems almost like it didn‘t come from him because whatever fitting expression he had to this voice was washed away with a smirk.  
  
„You‘re right, the first thing I look at are the shoes!“ he exclaims cheerfully and lays a card. „You can tell a lot about a man through his shoes.“  
  
„For example?“ Yuuri asks. Viktor stills, his hand hovering over his cards and Yuuri looks up at him. Viktor‘s eyebrow is perfectly arched, his mouth tugged into a mocking snarl and something in Yuuri clicks. His cheeks heat up and his heart stutters out of rhythm.  
  
„ _Oh_.“  
  
„Yeah.“ he says softly, and winks at Yuuri.  
  
The play silently for a while and Yuuri just knows that Viktor is smirking.

  


  
  
And now Yuuri allows himself to really look at him. It‘s still strange to finally have a name to the boy from back then, seeing how he matured from the androgynous, almost genderless beauty to a man with sharp edges and more smiles in his face Yuuri would have ever thought, still radiating and unreachable. Sitting here with a ghost of his teenage dreams makes him nervous, and he doesn't know what to do.  
  
„Oh!“ Viktor says as he looks at Yuuri‘s cards, „Congratulations.“ and he takes one of his golden bracelets off to throw it mockingly against Yuuri‘s chest.  
  
„I assumed you‘re not a fan of strip poker?“

Viktor‘s smile gets impossible wider.  
  
„I don‘t like their way of playing strip poker. Because their goal is to get fucked and my goal is to win,“ he explains, his lashes casting shadows on his pale skin „And besides, don‘t you think it‘s way more rewarding and satisfying if you earn it?“ he says and leans forward, a playful smirk on his lips. His foot slips up Yuuri's calf, persistent and firm.  
  
Viktor then stands up and comes to sit next to Yuuri again, pulling his legs up to rest on the couch while propping one cheekbone on his fist.  
  
„I‘m a little bored...“ he purrs and traces a line down Yuuri‘s chest with a pointed finger, and he looks like he wants to claw Yuuri‘s organs out without haven‘t decided yet where to start. Yuuri knows he is blushing, feels the heat in his cheeks but the dim light should help cover it up at least to some extent, so he grabs Viktor by his awfully slim wrist and lets his hand fall into his lap, away from him.  
  
„I can‘t,“ he says and locks eyes with Viktor, „I have to meet Kazuya.“ he explains and wonders in the same moment why he even has to tell a hooker something like this, why he even feels the need to excuse and explain himself. Viktor‘s smile finds its way back to his face.  
  
„He won‘t come, he got engaged today,“ Yuuri furrows his brows and checks his phone. There is a message from Kazuya, saying exactly what Viktor just told him. Yuuri clicks his tongue annoyed, feeling something hot and angry low in his stomach at his rudeness. „I heard they are a real sweetheart.“ he says almost as if he wants to comfort Yuuri.  
  
„They have to be amazing when he just neglects his responsibilities like that.“ he hisses annoyed and Viktor laughs brightly.  
  
„This means you have time now, right? Come on, it would be such a shame if you drove all the way here for nothing. You really don‘t look like someone who likes to waste his time.“ he says and shallows Yuuri with his eyes, undressing him, wild and hungry and burning and Yuuri feels a strange need to kiss him right on his chiffon covered mouth which he knows he would never do.

„I don‘t see anything that would be worth my time.“ he says instead.  
  
„You are a very cruel man, Katsuki-san.“ Viktor says laughing, tipping his head back slightly, the pale column of his throat stands out beautifully, and it makes something spark inside Yuuri. He coughs into his fist and then stands up, looking for Nishigori.  
  
„Are you worried about your dog?“ he asks, and Yuuri‘s head whips around, his gaze full of daggers and venom and his face contorted in unhidden emotions, and he hates the blaze of anger spiking through his veins because it‘s an opening, something a yakuza would use to kick against, poke against, something to exploit just like Yuuri himself did and would do it again and again and again. Viktor looks surprised, his black framed eyes huge and glinting without any mock, but he carves a smile back into his face quickly.  
  
„I‘ll go now.“ he says firmly, keeping the waver and stuttering out of his voice from having it drilled into his mind countless times. He somehow expects a hand to reach out to him, but Viktor doesn‘t do anything like that. Instead, he follows Yuuri with a two-step distance between them, the clicking of his high heels on the floor annoying and rhythmic. As Yuuri turns his head to looks at him Viktor looks almost startled and smiles a tiny smile, holding his elbows.  
  
The light is dim, thick billows of smoke still in the air, but they are still not able to cover up the blinding colorful staff in their silly costumes, especially next to Viktor with his expensive, fitted clothes with toned down and elegant colors. Two women are fanning Nishigori air, exchanging worried looks. Nishigori sits on one of the couches with outstretched limbs, head tipped back to rest against the couch, his nostrils flaring with each gentle snore.  
  
With each step his heart tumbles more out of its rhythm and cold dread sits like a stone in his lower stomach. He clenches his fists and looks around, taking his surroundings in.

Every yakuza is gone now with a prostitute, and the only people left are the two employees beside Nishigori, Viktor and Yuuri. The sudden cancellation from Kazuya seems suspicious and now a piece is slotting in its place. Calling him here is a trap. Making sure that the appointment is important enough so Yuuri can‘t deny without offending him and causing even more tension between the two biggest yakuza groups, where every unnecessary provocation could cost the lives of many people and possible destroy the whole Japanese mafia. Giving him a false sense of security and safeness through the several yakuza of Yuuri‘s own group, distracting the others through alcohol, gambling and sex and knowing that Yuuri doesn‘t have the slightest interest in any of these things and now Nishigori, his driver and bodyguard is useless. And then there is the way Viktor clings to him and tries to make him stay so desperately.  
  
He feels cold sweat bead in between his shoulder blades and under the hem of his dress shirt.  
  
Yuuri rummages in his mind for a moment when Viktor had even spent any second with flirting with others despite him in the room, but its seems like he was focused on him from the very beginning. The way he emerged is also suspicious, suddenly and without warning. He has to have come out from some room as he spotted Yuuri since a foreigner, with such vibrant blonde hair and this tall would have surely attracted some attention, and then the way he immediately called Yuuri's first name. And the there is also his appearance, his clothes and hair so very different from the others that it seems almost like an offering, a present whose only purpose is to be noticed and claimed by Yuuri.  
  
Maybe he is an assassin? But would Kazuya really be so reckless and start a group war now when other mafia groups get more and more involved into the Japanese black market, and despite the stricter laws regarding yakuza? Now, where it's so important to stick together he really wants to tear this all apart?  
  
Yuuri looks at Viktor from the corner of his eye, suspecting some sort of action now, something that would make him clearly an enemy now, an assassin, anything that would fit the dangerous, knowing smirk that sits on his face better than him being a simple prostitute.  
  
He concentrates on the weight of his guns, calling them back into his consciousness, recalls the exact positions and the next action from here on if he would draw them. A hand slipping beneath his suit and he could pin them all in place, grab Nishigori and take the elevator. But the plan has too man gaps. He is not a hero, and under the cold, perfect exterior of Katsuki Yuuri he is still only Yuuri. He can‘t escape.

Yuuri's lungs are shrinking, pressing down on his hammering heart, blood to fast, too loud and breathes out steady and carefully, trying to not let the others notice anything. Sweat runs down the small of his back like a spider, and he suppresses a shiver.  
  
Yuuri sits down next to Nishigori and slaps his cheek lightly. His lashes flutter and his eyes open slowly, sleepy, his head lolling to the side weakly, his brows furrowed. „How much did you drink? And what?“ Yuuri asks with a cool tone, and Nishigori shallows, closes his eyes like he has trouble remembering what happened or forming sentences.  
  
„Whiskey and… and vodka. Four or five, um...“ Yuuri sighs deeply. A good thing about growing up together is that Yuuri knows exactly about Nishigori‘s alcohol tolerance from the times they would come into the dining room after all the guests were already gone, looking in every sake cup to try some. And this state is not exactly new to him.  
  
„W-we are so sorry.“ One of the employee says and bows deep, and the other women does the same, almost visible shivering and the dread and worry thick and clear in their faces. Yuuri groans inwardly.  
  
„Kazuya really doesn‘t do his best to make me feel safe.“ he says and stands up from the couch. „Call a cab.“ he orders and the staff members nod their heads frantically, not looking up from the floor.  
  
The expected hand finally makes its entrance.  
  
„You can stay here!“ Viktor exclaims, his smile wide under the thin chiffon and his eyes bright, excited almost. Yuuri narrows his eyes.  
  
„We have plenty of rooms here,“ he says, his fingers still gripping Yuuri‘s wrist tightly. The heat of each individual finger seeps through Yuuri‘s suit, and he tries not to blush, „Come on, what can possible happen when most of the yakuza members here are on your side?“ Yuuri tries to pull his arm away but Viktor holds him tighter, his eyes burning intensive, dangerously, flickering. „You can tell your people to come check up on you if you aren‘t back at a specific time, right?“

 _It‘s a trap_ something in Yuuri‘s mind screams with a piercing voice, screeching so loudly it makes a shiver run down his spine. The phrasing 'most of your group members‘ makes him uncomfortable. Does this mean Kazuya wants to get rid of the members that are loyal to the Katsuki family? It would definitely be too suspicious if he only invited people that are under the Katsuki's, so maybe he made sure that some small fry of his own group is present, probably the ones that are most likely to change sides. If that is the case then that would mean that everyone here is on his side and would help him.  
  
But where is the threat? What is the plan? How do they plan on killing them?  
  
Yuuri‘s eyes flicker down to Nishigori. Maybe it‘s in the drinks?  
  
He frantically searches in his mind if he drank something from here, anything since they arrived, but thankfully nothing springs to mind. Would Kazuya really go to such lengths to keep their groups from fusing and cooperating? The plan seems way too reckless, but he doesn't really know him, didn't have the chance to meet him until now. Not only would their group be able to dominate the leaderless yakuza, but there would be no one to hold them down anymore and suppress their drug dealing.  
  
It may be easy to kill two birds with one stone, but fifty? Sixty? There are always without fail people who escape and survive things like this. A shiver runs down Yuuri‘s spine when he thinks that today, he may be one of those people.  
  
„Hey, are you okay?“ Viktor asks and steps closer, his brows furrowed and his shoulders hunched forward the slightest bit. His dark eyes are too radiant, too observing, and he is too tall, too graceful, too foreign and gorgeous. He moves with a weightless gracefulness like moving through the water that‘s surrounding, drowning Yuuri and presses the air out of his lungs, the water that hinders him from breathing.  
  
He looks away.  
  
„I don‘t understand you, all yakuza like to play around. What makes you so afraid?“ Viktor asks, and his voice is full with something Yuuri can‘t name, can‘t concentrate on now. Maybe he is annoyed.  
  
The fact that someone dares to speak to him like that, the fact that someone is so openly annoyed by him and calls him out like this is surreal, almost disturbingly funny.  
  
He looks up and Viktor glares at the two staff members who stare at him with wide eyes. „What?“ he asks confused and brash, and then he pouts. Fucking _pouts._  
  
This is surreal. Completely surreal.  
  
Yuuri takes a deep breath and then says:“Okay. Let's bring him to a room.“ He wraps Nishigori‘s arm around his shoulder and lifts him up, and Viktor immediately goes to his other side and supports him, one hand grabbing Nishigori's wrist around his shoulder and the other grabbing his waist to hold him upright.  
  
Yuuri definitely didn‘t expect the evening to take such an unexpected turn. This is definitely a bad day. From heavy flirting they went to carrying his drunk bodyguard up some stairs.  
  
„This way.“ Viktor guides, leading them to a wide corridor with red, dimmed light. Some doors are guarded with bodyguards, and he feels relief washing over him as he notices familiar faces. _Friends_ he decides.  
  
The light dips Viktor‘s face in shadows, but his eyes reflect the light as his eyes flicker from room number to room number.  
  
„It should be empty here.“ he says and opens the door.  
  
The room is big, with dark flooring and dark brocade wall paper, a hint of gold shimmering in the dim light. There is some sort of stage, black and sleek , a pole in the middle. Above the stage there are lights that dip the room into sensual, red light. In front of the stage is a glass coffee table and a U-shaped couch, huge and modern and black. There is a bar in one corner, the glasses glinting from across the room. A door that probably leads to the bedroom.  
  
Together, they practically drag Nishigori to the door, his feet sliding on the floor powerlessly, and he opens the door to reveal an equally dark bedroom, a huge bed right in the middle with wine red satin sheets, expensive and soft, two nightstands and another door leading to a bathroom.  
  
They slowly sit him down and Nishigori falls on his back with a huff. Viktor sighs and flops down next to him, strangely graceful.  
  
„Not the man I wanted to end up in bed with, but...“ he trails off and looks up to Yuuri from under his dark lashes, his eyes sending out dangerous sparks, „If we get a little company then it should be fine.“ he smirks and leans back on his forearms, one foot on the bed and his leg dangling of the floor.  
  
Yuuri sinks to his knees and Viktor squeals delighted. „So bold Katsuki-san!“

He ignores Viktor and unties Nishigori‘s shoes, taking them of carefully so he doesn‘t wake up and sets them beside the bed. With a faint cracking in his joints he rises and Viktor chuckles, a snarky comment on his tongue, but Yuuri silences him when he puts a finger to his lips, eyes urgent. Viktor smiles and twists his finger in front of his lips, sealing them and throwing the imaginary key away.  
  
Yuuri doesn‘t know if he should roll his eyes or if he can allow himself to smile.  
  
He leans down and loosens Nishigori's tie and takes of his suit jacket. He turns around and wonders if he should take of Nishigori‘s pants and dress shirt off too, but he decides against it. Viktor‘s eyes are dark and gleam in the dim light, hungry, predatory and it makes something hot and liquid run down Yuuri‘s spine that pools in his gut.  
  
Viktor seems to be able to fuck someone while there is another person drunk and passed out on the same bed.  
  
„Let‘s go.“ he whispers and Viktor jumps up immediately like a puppy and follows him into the other room. Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.  
  
Viktor goes straight to the bar while Yuuri silently closes the door behind him and then flops down on the couch, sighing exhausted as he tips his head against the back of the couch.  
  
„The rooms are soundproof, just so you know,“ he says over his shoulder, the sound of glass against glass clinking in the room,„We can be as loud as you want, and your little bodyguard friend won‘t wake up.“ he purrs, walking towards Yuuri with long sure strides, his hips swaying dangerously, the liquid in the two glasses swaying with him from side to side. Yuuri tries not to stare, but the chiffon shows now even more of his lean legs under the skirt, the shadows accentuating his well-built abs.  
  
Yuuri suppresses the urge to shallow because it seems like Viktor is just waiting for a sign like this, for anything that would allow him to dig his claws deep into Yuuri and not let him go until he is trembling and moaning and begging.  
  
So he takes a glass out of his hand, carefully so their fingers don‘t brush, and downs it immediately. Which is a mistake. _Oh_ , such a big mistake.  
  
Viktor‘s pale, large hand is pressed against his belly, his legs drawn up and his shoulders forward, collarbones peeking out from under the crop top and the glass in his other hand swaying, dangerously close to spilling it‘s contents all over his expensive, glittering clothes as he laughs and laughs until Yuuri is sure he has tears in his eyes.  
  
Yuuri coughs and coughs helplessly, the burn in his throat unbearable, tears pooling, heat creeping up his neck, his cheeks until they reach the very tip of his ears. He prays the light will cover it up at least a bit.  
  
„I- I can‘t believe you just-“ he laughs breathlessly, carefully swiping the corner of his eye to not smear his eye shadow over his face as he tries to dry his tears, finally slumping back against the couch with a small smile partly hidden by the chiffon.  
  
„Now, what are we two incredible attractive men gonna do?“ he asks and sips from his own glass, all while keeping eye contact. Yuuri‘s eyes flicker to the glass in Viktor‘s hands.  
  
This was stupid, he shouldn‘t have just drank it in his nervousness. Viktor's back was turned to him, and he didn‘t see what he did. Yuuri should definitely be wary about the situation, especially when Viktor looks at him like this.  
  
„Nothing.“ he answers and his eyes drop to the glass in his hands, cold against his fingers.  
  
Viktor leans forward, his white hand too bright against the black couch in his peripheral vision.  
  
„You‘re no fun, Katsuki-san.“ he accuses, his voice inpatient and almost whiny. „Just _i magine_,“ he purrs, his hand moving up and up the couch, „We could get drunk. I could pole dance.“ his hand lands on Yuuri's knee, heat seeping through the fabric, „ _And I could blow your mind_." his breath hot and wet on Yuuri‘s ear.  
  
Heat ripples through him, as if the water that presses down on him vibrates because of Viktor.  
  
„Or something else.“ he says, his voice thankfully cold and serious as he turns his head towards Viktor. Their lips are only centimeters apart, the thin chiffon separating them still, and Yuuri sees it float the slightest bit as Viktor breathes out, and he can‘t help but stare into these blue, blue eyes.  
  
The light changes color, from red to blue.  
  
Suddenly Viktor pulls away and laughs, his whole face lighting up with delight as he tips his head back. Yuuri feels cold suddenly. „I knew we would get along!“ he exclaims and pokes Yuuri playfully in the chest. Something hot and liquid radiates from the place and spreads from his chest to his neck and finally his face.  
  
„I‘m not saying we have to fuck,“ Viktor says and leans forward on his hands, „We are just here to have fun. And I want you to feel completely at ease.“ he says in a low voice, and in his dark framed eyes Yuuri can see sparks of genuineness.  
  
And maybe it‘s because he already drank something, or because the tension in the air is almost tangible, or because of the way Viktor‘s eyes are glinting in the blue light, or maybe it‘s even because Viktor was the only person Yuuri ever truly wanted and he has been lonely for too long, but he nods slowly.  
  


 

  
Then there is a burn down his throat that spreads warmth, coiling in his gut. Yuuri tries so suppress his cough when Viktor‘s hand slides up his knee suddenly all the way up his thigh. Viktor grins into his glass, keeping eye contact like Yuuri is the most interesting thing he ever came across. The next time the burn is not that prominent, and thankfully Viktor keeps his hands by himself this time. Viktor grins regardless.  
  
Then he gulps and gulps and gulps, thirsty, and Viktor‘s grin is bright and a little fuzzy at the edges, and Yuuri briefly wonders if he is in danger.  
  
„I really like this,“ Viktor giggles. He is noticeable tipsy, his shoulders drawn up when he laughs about his own silliness when he fills their glasses, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, opening his eyes slowly and lazy, almost sleepy as he looks at Yuuri with a tiny content smile on his lips that makes him smile into his own glass. It gets harder and harder to not stare at him and not roam over Viktor‘s body.  
  
„But don‘t you think we should dance?“ he asks, suddenly a little remote in his hand. He presses a button and music begins to play. English, sensual, and Yuuri looks at Viktor as he gets up, stumbling almost in his high heels and over the edge of his skirt.  
  
Every thin finger play's a graceful choreography as he wraps them around the glinting pole. Then Viktor leans in the opposite direction, swings around it with one hand and getting lower and lower, giggling, his long hair waving behind him like a silver lining. Yuuri understands suddenly that he is not trying to seduce him: he is just drunk. A very gorgeous, very graceful, very silly and flirty drunk.  
  
It shouldn‘t be so endearing. It really shouldn‘t.  
  
„Stop, stop!“ Yuuri exclaims, and to his own horror he is laughing. Not deep, not mocking or intimidating, no dangerous curve of his lips that doesn‘t show teeth: he is laughing the Yuuri way, the Yuuri who lived in Detroit way, the Yuuri who likes to play games and hole up in his room when everything gets too much, the Yuuri who is blushing way too easily and wears bulky glasses.  
  
Viktor doesn‘t seem to notice or mind as he slowly grips the pole with his other hand and pulls himself up, standing on his too long legs and swaying lightly. Yuuri stands up, and walks towards Viktor. With each step his heart starts to beat faster, too loud in his heart, Viktor too vibrant, the violet light making his skin even paler, tension in the air like before a storm.  
  
Viktor smiles at him, quietly, pretty, blinking slowly as Yuuri wraps his hand around the pole, cold solid metal under his palm that feels familiar, something that feels ridiculously reassuring now where his world is spinning dizzying fast, making his vision blurry and his knees weak, his heart beating in his throat.

Their hands are so close it wouldn‘t take much to slide down and touch him, but not with the way Viktor watches him so intently and searching.  
  
Viktor‘s smile widens slightly and he comes closer, moving gracefully through water, or are both of them just swaying? Yuuri can‘t tell, and Viktor‘s eyes re so blue he can‘t focus on anything as he feels his heartbeat even in his fingertips, pulsating against the pole.  
  
„Should I show you how to do it?“ he asks suddenly, and he almost winces because he always babbles when he is drunk. But surprisingly Viktor‘s eyes are sparkling with delight and childlike wonder, awe almost.  
  
„Go ahead.“ he purrs lowly, his eyes half lidded and tilting his chin up. With a heavy sway of his hips he gets off the stage and flops down on the couch, sighing loudly like it was a great effort, and spreads his arms over the back of the couch, his legs crossed gracefully and the rhinestones glinting in the light delicately, tiny and wonderful and expensive and so very fitting to the twinkling light in Viktor‘s eyes.  
  
Yuuri‘s lips twitch into a smile involuntary, and he takes off his suit jacket, throwing it against Viktor‘s chest. He catches it and holds it against his face, hiding the lower part of his face but Yuuri can tell through the way his eyes crinkle at the edges that he smiles.  
  
He turns around and slowly opens his pants, bending down as he takes them off. Viktor whistles lowly, and Yuuri grins, the corners of his mouth trembling from suppressed laughter as he turns around and throws his pants against Viktor as well.  
  
„You are so dangerous Katsuki-san...“ he says, his voice low and heavy like silk, smooth and deep, his hand in Yuuri‘s suit jacket as his eyes dart to his ankle.  
  
Yuuri‘s heart stutters. He completely forgot about the gun.  
  
Everything freezes, but by the next heartbeat his body reacts, solely out of muscle memory as he falls to his knee and reaches for the gun, taking the safety off and pointing it at Viktor‘s chest. There is no time to think or regret, there is only blood pumping adrenaline through his veins, his heart hurting from it as he sobers up. He tries not to focus on his shaking hands. It‘s the alcohol. Only that.  
  
Viktor is not a second slower than him.  
  
„I could say the same about you.“ And the way Viktor smiles with his too white teeth that break even through the fabric covering it makes a hot, surging thrill pump through his body, all the way to the tips of his fingers and his toes. It‘s not the first time he points a gun at someone, but he feels jittery, feels this excited in a way that is almost sick, almost filthy because he knows he won‘t shoot him and Viktor probably knows it too, judging by the smug grin on his face.  
  
„I‘m honored, really,“ Viktor says, his voice dripping with something fake and sticky and mocking as his eyes roam almost hungrily over Yuuri‘s body, slowly as if he tries to choose where he should shoot him, „But like I said, I want you to be completely at ease.“ he says slowly, letting the gun dangle from his finger delicately.  
  
Yuuri slowly rises up, alcohol shooting into his brain and making his vision blurry, rubbery like tar, the gun still pointed at Viktor‘s glittering chest, right between the gaps of his golds chains.  
  
Yuuri never cared about colors, but he is sure red would look good on him.  
  
Viktor doesn‘t look the least bit frightened. His blue eyes are almost challenging, lit up with something mocking, something that reflect in the way his mouth tilts into a sneer, in the way he puts his arms up in surrender. It‘s like a bear pretending to be weak, lying on his back and able to break your spine in a matter of seconds.  
  
Here's a secret: Yuuri knows this. And maybe this is exactly why he gets closer.  
  
„You won‘t hurt me, right?“ he whines, his brows drawn together and creating a crease on his forehead. Yuuri wants to claw his nails into it and deepen it, mark him.  
  
He doesn't know why.  
  
„That depends entirely on you.“ he answers, keeping eye contact as he takes his clothes of Viktor‘s lap, throwing them to the far end of the couch. He carefully plucks the gun from Viktor‘s fingers and tosses it on the bundle of clothes.  
  
„So you don‘t trust me?“ he asks, his jet black eyelashes fluttering mock-innocently as he looks up.  
  
„You just lost that trust.“ Yuuri says, pressing the gun against Viktor‘s chest, almost hearing the rhinestones crunch under the metal. It looks almost as if Viktor is taking a deep breath, leaning into the touch of the gun, into the coldness. Like he wants Yuuri to crush his rips.  
  
Yuuri knows exactly how easy it is for someone practiced to take the gun away if he gets too close, and there is this little crazy, loud thing in his mind that wants to test Viktor, wants to know what he will do because he is so very different, so very smug and fearless.  
  
„I know a way to get your trust back...“ he purrs, and Yuuri probably only imagines the vibrations being resounded in his gun, up into his skin. It makes his cheeks burn regardless.  
  
Viktor doesn't take his eyes off him even for a second as he slowly lifts his hand up and takes of the thin chiffon veil, and Yuuri‘s heart flips in his chest at the sight.

His smile is even more dangerous like this.

Then he reaches behind himself, zipping his crop top open, the rhinestones glinting and shimmering accompanied by the soft chinking of the gold chains, disconnecting them from his skirt and throwing the complicated clothing to Yuuri‘s suit.  
  
Yuuri looms over him, propping one knee on the couch as he stars into Viktor‘s blue, dark eyes and presses the gun against his chin. It feels like Yuuri can do anything. He feels Viktor‘s breath catch on his face and his hands are working frantically to pull down this poor excuse of a skirt.  
  
Viktor‘s lips are plump, red, and his mouth looks so much bigger now without the veil, the air thick and tension electrifying the air, anticipation ripples down his spine hotly, and it would take so little to close the distance between them, feel his lips and gasps and everything, and it would take so little to just curl his finger and shoot that beautiful face, and something in Viktor‘s face, in the way his lips twitch and his eyes gleam, tells him that he would be fine with either.  
  
Yuuri is jittery and something thrums deep inside his bones, the need to do something, to use his energy that feels dangerously and shockingly close to greed, something he never cared about before and was almost disgusted by it when he looked at others, at their silly and pointless attempts to gain power and money, but now.  
  
Now he almost understands this obsessive need to obtain something so unreachable, something so hard to get when Viktor‘s eyes sparkle up at him, the column of his throat pale and vulnerable as he shallows, his adam's apple bobbing.  
  
„Do you trust me now?“ he whispers into the little hot space between their lips, and Yuuri wants to do it, _n ow._  
  
But he pulls away and stands up. Viktor‘s shoulder slump almost unnoticeable. It makes Yuuri shiver almost, but he instead clenches his jaw.  
  
The light turned pink, and in the dim light Viktor is lean, flawless marble, pale and beautiful. He lies there bonelessly, arms sprawled out on the couch, tilting his chin up and leaning against the back of the couch as if his head is too heavy for his slender neck.  
  
His cock is the most beautiful thing Yuuri has ever seen.  
  
Yuuri is no stranger to nudity since his parents own an onsen, and he saw tons of naked yakuza just relaxing in the hot water, loudly chattering with each other and showing off their various tattoos, and now when he looks at Viktor‘s naked, white skin he is reminded of white canvas right before someone taints it with color, something that still needs to have a story written on it, that lacks something.  
  
It makes him want to dig his nails deep into Viktor‘s skin and leave angry, red marks that make him lose that calm expression.  
  
Yuuri leans over to the pile of their clothes and grabs his tie, wrapping his arms around Viktor.  
  
„You could‘ve just told me that you want a hug.“ Viktor laughs, but it dies in his throat quickly as Yuuri ties the blue fabric around his wrists, tugging to make sure it won‘t come loose.  
  
„Now I feel a lot safer,“ he says and pulls away, grins directly into Viktor‘s face as he stares at Yuuri with wide eyes, „This is important to you, right?“ he asks, his hands on his knees and leaning down as if he talks to a child. Viktor narrows his eyes, and Yuuri feels something surge through his body like a bullet.  
  
His smile is cold, not reaching his eyes, sharp at the edges. It feels like he wants to cut Yuuri open with it.  
  
„Of course.“ he answers sweetly, cocking his head to the side slightly like a puppy.  
  
Yuuri has to bite his lip, but despite his efforts his lips twitch and tremble with a suppressed smile. He doesn‘t know why he likes teasing Viktor this much, but it feels good, feels like he has the control back now, like the appearance of this old ghost won‘t shake him to the core anymore. He ruffles through Viktor‘s carefully styled hair, something he always wanted to do and wanted to see, fine white strands of hair coming undone out of his long, formerly flawless ponytail, hanging in his eyes and framing his face like a piece of art. It‘s almost mesmerizing.  
  
„Good boy.“  
  
Viktor‘s eyes are wild, his lips scrunched up on one edge like he can‘t decide if he wants to spit on Yuuri or bite him.  
  
Yuuri would be happy with either.  
  
So he turns around and slowly walks to the pole, the red light deep and vivid like a fever dream. Viktor throws his head back, trying to get his hair out of his face, his eyes sparkling. Yuuri can‘t help but smirk.  
  
He moves his hand slow, sensual over his belly, fingers splayed over his dress shirt, moving up and up across his chest, locking eyes with Viktor. He moves to the first button, and he honestly doesn‘t know where this will take him or what he even wants to do now, but he knows it's something, and this here feels right. Right in a way things haven‘t felt for a while now.  
  
„You seem awfully used to this.“ Viktor comments casually, one corner of his mouth tilted up, sneering and pompous and gorgeous. Yuuri shrugs his shoulders and turns around, slipping of his dress shirt slowly, revealing his neck, his shoulders, his back, and then he throws it somewhere on the dark floor.  
  
It is expensive, tailored, people ducking their heads in between their shoulders and avoiding to look at him, fearing him, hands that shake when they fill up his cups, and seeing it now lying on the floor feels liberating, like he not only shrugged of his shirt but the weight of being the heir, got rid of responsibility and strength and power. It feels like he is Detroit Yuuri again.  
  
„And you seem awfully used to getting tied up.“ he says smirking. Viktor laughs, and it sounds awful good, different in the way he tips his head against the back of the couch, his chest pale chest shaking rhythmically and his knees drawn up the slightest bit.  
  
„ _O h!“ _he says and looks at Yuuri with wide eyes, his smile doing its best to split his face into two, his teeth impossibly white. Yuuri‘s heart stutters. He stops moving, stops breathing. His heart is probably beating so fast because of oxygen deprivation.  
  
„Katsuki-san, clap your hands!“ he exclaims happily, loudly as he leans forward, so excited it feels contagious. Yuuri claps and looks around, the music way louder than before.  
  
„Are you going to strip for me?“ he purrs, darting his eyes to Yuuri‘s boxer briefs before looking back up to his face. And Yuuri, the son of the most powerful yakuza family grips the pole with both hands, wrapping his legs around it and bending his back as anticipation makes his knees weak and goosebumps bloom on his skin, all for this simple prostitute, and the situation is so bizarre and surreal a laugh rocks through him, so hard and uncontrollable and suddenly he is afraid he will lose his grip and fall.  
  
„Wouldn‘t that be your job?“ he asks as blood shoots into his brain, Viktor suddenly upside down, as he tries to focus on gripping the pole tightly.  
  
Viktor laughs again in this unique, engrossing way, almost childish. „I‘d love to, but for one thing I‘m already naked, and for the other you tied me up.“ Yuuri almost snorts, coming down from the pole to walk around it slowly on his tip toes, „Rather skillfully actually, I guess yakuza are just good with it.“ he says, his eyes sparkling as they send out sparks that burn Yuuri‘s skin.  
  
„Do you want to talk or see me on the pole?“  
  
„I get the feeling, Katsuki-san, that both would be surprisingly entertaining.“

 

 

  
Colors swim together as Yuuri turns and twists his body the way he learned back then in Detroit and his breathing comes shorter and the room gets dipped into blue and pink and then violet and again and again and Viktor is bright and pale in the dark, blurry as he moves and the music pumping in his veins like poison.  
  
Hair is sticking damp to his forehead and it feels almost as if he reverted back in time when he was carefree, especially now when the alcohol makes his vision so fuzzy and slow, and he is reminded of the time when he lived in Detroit and how he liked to get completely drunk.  
  
„Katsuki-san!“ Viktor exclaims, and Yuuri does his best to focus on him and tilt the world back. Viktor‘s shoulders are drawn up, his chest sticking out, the back of his head resting against the couch and his skin pale in the dark. His cock is straining against his stomach.  
  
Yuuri shallows.  
  
He slowly sets his feet back on the floor, and he has to grip the pole so his knees don‘t buckle under him. Yuuri takes a deep breath and slowly walks towards Viktor. He looks surreal, like an otherworldly creature, too vivid to exist. Each step makes his heart beat faster, beat harder and pulse through his body like the beat of the music, completely in sync.  
  
„Stop teasing...“ Viktor pleads with a faint voice, staring at Yuuri from the corner of his eye, and Yuuri feels weak and helpless because he wants but doesn‘t know what to do.

Viktor huffs out perfect little puffs of air, his skin glowing from the inside out and Yuuri just really, really wants to kiss him. When was the last time he kissed someone? He can‘t remember, and they are pale in comparison to him, because Yuuri apparently could never really forget or replace him. Yuuri doesn‘t know anymore how lips feels against his.  
  
He slowly shoves his knee in between Viktor‘s legs, and his breath hitches audible in his chest, a sound that makes Yuuri‘s blood soar, and Viktor almost gratefully spreads his legs further apart, inviting Yuuri in, hope and need to be touched so clear in his face it closes around Yuuri‘s heart and squeezes. His blue eyes are hungry, searching, and Yuuri leans even closer, bracing his hand on the back of the couch, his nails digging into it desperately because he just wants to kiss Viktor but he doesn‘t know anything, doesn‘t know if he is even allowed to do that. Isn‘t it against some rules to kiss a prostitute?  
  
The thought is laughable, he shouldn‘t fear rules or laws as a yakuza heir, but it feels like he is intruding into Viktor‘s space, and he doesn‘t know what to think, what to feel.  
  
He pulls away, and he thinks he hears Viktor sighing as he rubs his dry eyes, trying to not move his contacts around too much as he tries to get a grip and the dizziness away. Tries to focus on breathing and stifle whatever burns in the pit of his stomach.  
  
„I‘m _literally_ dying here.“ Viktor deadpans, in English probably for the drama, and Yuuri is very tempted to roll his eyes.  
  
„Please fuck me.“ he says, and looks Yuuri straight into the eyes. He feels himself blush furiously, but _god_ does he want this.

„I like your hair.“ Yuuri babbles for some stupid reason, and he winces. Viktor smiles at him gently.

So he leans closer and reaches his arms behind Viktor, trying to untie him, but Viktor shakes his head and smiles gently.  
  
„I really like being tied up...“ he breathes, eyes half lidded and his chin tilted up the slightest bit, his hot breath fanning over Yuuri‘s already heated cheeks.  
  
„Where?“ he asks, licking his lips unconsciously, his heart beating in his too dry throat. Yuuri‘s eyes dart to his red, red parted lips and feels himself leaning even closer, but he can‘t bring himself to cross this line.  
  
„First drawer. Bedroom.“ Viktor says, his voice thick and his accent stronger. Yuuri stands up and staggering to the door, flinching as he sees Nishigori still lying on the bed like they left him. He slowly goes to the commode, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest that feels out of place, but he frankly couldn‘t care less about Nishigori when Viktor is in the next room, naked and flushed and beautiful.  
  
So he pulls open the drawer quietly, revealing condoms and lube. Yuuri breathes out a shuddering breath, hopefully grabbing the right things in the dim light.  
  
Viktor smiles at him breathlessly as he comes back, and when he looms over him he looks almost ecstatic, giddy with excitement. He slowly takes of his boxer briefs, trying to shallow the nervous ball of tension, dribbling lube onto his shivering hands, warming it up as fast as possible because he knows that Viktor is staring at his dick, and considering what they are about to do he can‘t exactly tell him to stop.  
  
Yuuri puts on a condom and slicks himself up, getting fully hard in his hands and because Viktor watches him this intently, knows his eyes are roaming up and down, and from all the endless ways he imagined Viktor seeing him like this, alone when he was in his bed, hands slipping under his waistbands, shame and want flooding his cheeks with blood, and now he lies here before him, ready and needy and every imaginary scenario is so pale in comparison that it‘s almost laughable.  
  
He puts Viktor‘s lean legs over his shoulders and slips between Viktor‘s tights.  
  
Viktor laughs breathlessly, looking down between them. A strand of hair lies across his forehead, silvery and distracting. „I know you are inexperienced, but even you should know that this isn‘t how sex works.“  
  
Yuuri thrusts, his eyes dropping from the little silver line to Viktor‘s eyes, almost black in the light. „I won‘t fuck you.“ Yuuri breathes out, hos voice thick and raspy as he tries not to think too much about Viktor, tries not to think about how beautiful he is and wants him because he will come to fast like this, he just knows. But the accident happens only a few seconds later as he looks at Viktor‘s face, his eyes wide and surprised. In the red light it looks like he blushes.  
  
„Why?“ he asks, almost annoyed.  
  
„I just won‘t.“ he grunts, moving, the waver in his voice not yet a stammer and Viktor looks annoyed and confused, the strand of hair lying directly across his furrowed brows as he clasps his legs together with a strength that feels like he wants to squeeze Yuuri dry. Yuuri gasps, nails digging into his skin, and Viktor looks good in red, otherworldly, and his long ponytail a white snake, perfect and Yuuri‘s fingers itch with the want to pull on it.  
  
Yuuri moves more recklessly, and Viktor‘s face crinkles like paper as he bucks up, the column of his throat prominent and vulnerable.  
  
„From behind,“ he pleads, his eyes dark, „At least do it from behind.“  
  
So Yuuri flips Viktor over, and it shouldn‘t feel this good to move and push him around, to have so much control over Viktor but it does in a way Yuuri would be terrified if he were sober and in daylight. Now, it only makes him grip Viktor‘s waist tightly, feeling his lithe body, feeling his skin yielding under his fingers as he helps him get onto his knees, a cheek pressed into the cushion and his ass sticking into the air, presenting himself and the tie around his wrists still secure in place, and Viktor looks wrapped up like a present with a blue bow.  
  
Yuuri rams his cock again between Viktor‘s tights, jerking his cock simultaneously faster and faster and Yuuri never knew that skin against skin could feel this slick and make this obscene and loud and wet and filthy noises but it does, and then there are Yuuri‘s moans mingling with Viktor‘s loud ones almost as if he is in pain, and it‘s so much he feels shivers run down his spine and something glass like sits on the end of it and goosebumps bloom over his shoulders and sides and arms and the back of his tights it feels like warm water running down his body, and sweat beads on is forehead and between his shoulder blades and it feels better than any fantasy and better than every other thing before in his life.  
  
„Say my name!“ Viktor cries, and Yuuri can‘t help himself, so he moans and gasps and says _Viktor_ again and again and again like a spell, sometimes like an insult, sometimes so softly like a secret.  
  
And Yuuri grabs his cock and jerks him, and it seems like Viktor is overwhelmed because he twitches and snaps his hips back into Yuuri and forward into his hand, and he sounds wrecked and throaty and Yuuri wants to mark him, somewhere, _a nywhere._  
  
Suddenly Viktor comes into his hand, and Yuuri tries to catch it all, hot and wet and Yuuri moves his hips more frantically now, and when he finally comes it feels breathtakingly good, and something rolls down his spine hot and liquid and cool at the same time, his throat dry and his lips pulsating from biting them too hard.  
  
Yuuri presses his damp forehead against Viktor‘s shoulder blade, taking deep breaths. Viktor‘s shoulders rise and fall, and Yuuri laughs breathlessly. He still can‘t believe what happened.  
  
Then Viktor moves and Yuuri takes of the tie, and winces a bit at the deep marks on his wrists, regretting that he made them so tight. Viktor doesn‘t seem to mind, he breathes out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and smiles, his eye makeup left dark smudges under his eyes, tiny black arrows made from his long lashes, and it‘s almost frustrating how he doesn‘t even do it on purpose and still looks perfect, now even more perfect than before. Softer and reachable somehow. More than just a distant memory, a ghost that haunts him.  
  
Viktor gets up slowly, rubbing his forearms and walks towards the bar, getting issues from somewhere. Somehow it feels okay now to stare at him, and his skin shines in the blue light, otherworldly with the way his muscles shift by each movement, every feature chiseled out of white marble.  
  
Yuuri‘s throat is constricted.  
  
Suddenly the liquid courage from before has disappeared, simply evaporated in the heat, and now he isn‘t Katsuki-san but Yuuri, the Yuuri who never had sex before and doesn‘t know what to do after it, how to act, what to say. Should he pay him now or should he assume it‘s a present from Azusa? This is probably what happens when you invite your own members to expensive restaurants instead of going with them to brothels.  
  
Viktor wipes his come away from his stomach, slowly and almost carefully, his long ponytail dropping over his shoulder and collarbone in fine, silvery strands as he looks down, and he absentmindedly tucks another loose strand behind his ear.  
  
And then he looks up and smiles gently, and somehow Yuuri forgot for a moment that he was staring, that Viktor would see him and respond. It still feels unreal, dreamlike.  
  
Viktor comes back to him and hands him a tissue.  
  
„Thank you,“ he says, shy Yuuri, real Yuuri making his entrance, bringing with him his blushing and politeness that makes him avoid Viktor‘s eyes. "How much should I pay you?" he asks then, thankfully avoiding the waver in his voice.  
  
He wipes of Viktor‘s come from his hand, feeling hot all over again, and Viktor leans down, taking of the condom which startles Yuuri so much he almost yelps, and then he throws it all away in a bin, going to the bar and crouching. Viktor takes something from there and turns around.  
  
„Nothing!“ he exclaims, grinning as he holds up a camera and directing it at Yuuri, „I really hope I showed you from your best side!“  
  
Yuuri‘s blood freezes in his body, and he gets rigid, something cold and hard sitting inside his gut, pressing down at him and it feels like he will vomit any second now, his mind searching for an answer, anything that would explain what is happening now, something that would deny this obvious betrayal, and his heart hurts and squeezes from pumping adrenaline trough his veins like crazy, and he feels is anxiety spike up, and he wants to be alone, and he wishes he wouldn‘t be drunk, wishes he would have stayed at home, wishes he would have medication on him now, and he _prays, prays, prays_ he won‘t have an anxiety attack now, not in front of Viktor.  
  
„Katsuki-san, you should see your _face_!“ he laughs, his shoulders shaking.  
  
Yuuri sighs and then tries to take a deep breath as quietly as possible. He moves to get his boxer briefs, putting them on as slowly as possible, trying to look calm and collected when he is anything but.  
  
„What now? You made a video. Who cares?“ he asks, putting his dress pants and even managing to click is tongue at the little folds in them from having them thrown so carelessly to the floor. It‘s all an act, and when you know where to look it‘s obvious, so all he can do is hope Viktor doesn‘t know. „Every yakuza fucks hookers. The only thing that will happen is that you will make a fool of yourself when you believe that you can just blackmail the heir of-“  
  
Viktor interrupts him with a laugh.  
  
It‘s not a laugh Yuuri has heard before from him, and it seems almost sick, frantic and hysterical, his eyes closed and head tipped back and shoulders and chest rocking and trembling and his mouth wide and open and black and dark, it looks almost like a clown, a maniac.  
  
Something runs down Yuuri‘s spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.  
  
Viktor wipes on the corners of his eyes, wiping away tears. He gets black smudges from his make up on his fingertips, but he doesn‘t seem to notice at all.  
  
„Katsuki-san, I really like you.“ he says and steps close, grabbing Yuuri‘s hands that are still holding his belt. His grip is strong and his smile sharp, dangerous, and Yuuri‘s hands tremble and he prays Viktor won‘t notice.  
  
He leans closer, and Yuuri has to look up, and his eyes are so _blue, blue, blue_ as he purrs lowly, almost growls:  
  
„I‘m not a hooker.“  
  
Yuuri blinks. And then furrows his brows.  
  
Viktor flops down at the couch and crosses his legs, grabbing his skirt and searching for something in his pocket. Yuuri feels himself tense up, and something rises in his throat. It could be his own heart.  
  
„Ta-dah!“ he says, grinning as he holds up a small, fragile and delicate looking gold ring, plastered with diamonds.  
  
Viktor leans even closer, smug smile, eyes piercing through him, smudges under his eyes that look like fingertip imprints, a hand firm and large and cold on his shoulder. His shoulders are tense, and he tries his best to slowly drop them and breathe calmly. Suppressing thoughts.  
  
„I‘m going to marry Kazuya-chan.“  
  
And when he says it he makes sure to be soft, almost careful, and Yuuri‘s world tilt and tilts and tilts and falls over the edge, but on the outside he probably only sways, if anything, and there is a static buzzing in is ears that almost drains Viktor out completely.  
  
„And?“ he manages to get out, and his voice doesn‘t break, surprisingly, and it looks like Yuuri hit him with a sledgehammer, „You have a video where I technically didn‘t fuck you, and there are enough people that will tell him how you threw yourself on me and clung to me. And on the video it will be clear that you wanted it, just look at our conversation.“ Yuuri says and puts his dress shirt on with surprisingly calm fingers. He will shake apart later, alone.  
  
All he feels something missing, big and leaving an empty space, and what did he expect, of course something would happen to him when he isn‘t careful.  
  
Viktor laughs again, in this terrible, terrible way and Yuuri winces, his fingers itching with the want to clasp his fingers on his mouth. Or with his fist. Or silence him forever.  
  
„Katsuki-san, I have Instagram,“ he says it like it‘s an explanation for this whole fucking mess, „I know what to do to make him see what I want him to see. Also, do these marks look like I was consenting?“ he asks innocently, showing off his red wrists turning blue and violet. Dread sits cold and heavy in Yuuri‘s stomach.  
  
His heart beats in his throat, pulsating everywhere as he reaches for his gun. Viktor doesn‘t seem to mind, he just smiles this sharp, dangerous smile with narrowed eyes and even steps closer.  
  
„Or I could just shoot you.“ he says and takes the safety off the gun, voice thankfully cold. Viktor‘s smile tries its best to reach his eyes, the corners pulling up, but it looks like a grimace as he walks towards Yuuri, ghostingly in the blue light. It makes Yuuri sick, nauseous, and he feels a headache in his temples.  
  
„And then?“ he asks. Another step. „You kill the fiance of the heir of a different group, a group that only consists of your enemies, and expect it not to start a group war?“ Another step, blood loud in his ears.  
  
„The only people who know I‘m involved with you are the staff members, and money is a good silencer.“  
  
Viktor hums, standing directly in front of Yuuri.  
  
„I like how you immediately think about killing me and not them,“ and something almost cruel seeps into his blue eyes that makes sweat run down Yuuri‘s back, „And the most effective silencer is something else,“ he says, smile widening, „But we both know that you are too soft for that.“ he says, eyes roaming over Yuuri‘s body, slowly, slowly until they stop by his groin.  
  
Yuuri blushes, out of embarrassment and anger, and he _ hates._

Now Yuuri takes a step forward, pressing the gun directly against Viktor‘s forehead, making him tip his head back, and he hates how Viktor‘s eyes send out sparks, how his grin widens, and Yuuri frantically tries to find a reason why he looks this triumphant, looks for something that would make him win.  
  
„Even with a gun to your head you don‘t stop with the innuendos.“  
  
Viktor shrugs his shoulder carefully.  
  
„I‘m an entertainer. I guess we have this in common.“ he smiles and his eyes flicker to the pole.  
  
Yuuri presses the metal more fiercely against him, hopefully leaving an imprint on his skin.  
  
Why did he have to be this stupid? He never lets his guard down, always careful, not with hookers, not with yakuza, not with the police, almost sickeningly careful to the point others laugh at him, saying he is almost more of a businessman than a yakuza. The difference between them and him is that they leave traces, clues, while Yuuri‘s hands remain clean and untainted.  
  
If it wasn‘t for him, if it wasn‘t for Viktor he wouldn't have, it was only because-  
  
„ _I t‘s you_,“ he says, and Viktor looks surprised, and even though Yuuri hates babbling when he is drunk, hates having no brain to mouth filter right now it gives him a certain feeling of pride that makes his chest swell and build the bones new into his body, making him stand tall and sure and firm and more like Katsuki Yuuri.  
  
He wants to steal Viktor‘s smile from his lips and place it on his own.  
  
„It‘s only because it‘s you.“ he repeats, voice cold and firm and it settles Yuuri‘s mind, makes it blank and calm.  
  
„I‘m honored, really,“ Viktor says, his expression softer, „Even though it‘s a shame, you could‘ve made some good money with that.“  
  
Yuuri feels something hot surge through him that contorts his features, crinkles them like paper, a thrown away sketch, as he pushes Viktor down on the couch, pressing down so tightly his arm shakes, and Viktor‘s throat is bright and pale as he shallows, blue eyes half lidded and framed with black as he looks up at Yuuri.  
  
„Would you like to repeat that?“ he growls.  
  
Viktor still smiles, his eyes feverish and almost ecstatic.  
  
„We both know that you won‘t shoot. It‘s better to finally make a deal, don‘t you think?“ and he gently but firmly puts a finger to Yuuri‘s gun, shoving it away from his forehead.  
  
Yuuri is cornered, a puppet, and his face is crinkled because this is not him, never him, he was always so careful, and does this mean he remembers that time in the past? His heart is too loud, he can barely think.  
  
Yuuri pulls away finally, and Viktor drapes an arm on the back of the couch, tipping his head back, lifting his chin as he laughs softly.  
  
„What do you want? I guess it‘s not money.“ and he spits the words practically in front of Viktor‘s feet.  
  
„You‘re right!“ he exclaims, „All I want is… hm...“ and he puts a finger to his mouth as he looks at the ceiling. It makes Yuuri want to do something, his finger itching to make him lose his calmness.  
  
„All I want is a friend.“ and he looks directly into Yuuri‘s eyes as he say it, sharpness and mocking gone.  
  
„I want you to keep me company and grace me with your presence. And then I won‘t show this to anyone.“  
  
Yuuri shallows. He isn‘t stupid enough to believe him, and his mind is racing already with possible reasons why this would benefit him, how this would benefit Kazuya.  
  
„I‘m afraid your darling won‘t approve.“ he says. Viktor sighs smiling and stands up.  
  
„Tie.“ and he holds out his hand. Yuuri frowns but hands him the damn blue tie. Viktor slings it around his neck, taking his time to touch his neck and shoulders, and Yuuri can‘t help but stare at the marks on his wrists, the marks that are even visible in this blue, dim light.  
  
„Don‘t worry about him. He is very busy, and there are some problems with his family since they don‘t know me and the engagement happened so suddenly. He really is an impulsive idiot,“ he says, straightening Yuuri‘s tie and smiles fondly, so genuinely it makes Yuuri sick.  
  
„Well, this means I have a lot of free time. And I won‘t expect that you meet me somewhere you‘re uncomfortable with, it will always be in public so you feel safe around me.“ he says and smiles gently. Yuuri glares at him, and his smile falters slowly, eyes blue and dark and wide.  
  
He stares at Yuuri‘s tie. „I‘m lonely,“ and it‘s surprisingly genuine as he says it, his brows rising a bit like he only now understands it, his expression soft and almost vulnerable, „And tired.“ he looks up at Yuuri like he expects some sort of comfort, some sort of understanding.  
  
„Don‘t you think this is an awful amount of effort just to find a friend? And then it even has to be the enemy of your fiance.“ Yuuri can‘t help it, his face crinkles in ugly rage, hands balled to fists and eyes narrowed.  
  
„But Katsuki-san, how else should I make sure you‘re going to be friends with me?“ he gasps mockingly, „And besides, I‘ve taken an interest in you.“ he says and leans down to pick up his clothes, putting on his underwear and then the long skirt. „And for me it‘s also only you.“ and his voice drips with something almost secretive, and Yuuri is tempted to ask but he also thinks he should have shot him back then.  
  
He grabs into his pocket and pulls out a strip of paper and puts it on the coffee table.  
  
„This is my number. If you don‘t contact me in the next 24 hours I will show the videos Kazuya,“ he says and zips up his crop top, gold chains glinting on his pale stomach, right where for not even an hour his come splattered hotly, „And don‘t waste your time searching for the cameras, the data is already on my laptop and I have tons of bugs here, so even without a video I think Kazuyawouldn‘t be happy to hear you moan my name so enthusiastically.“  
  
Yuuri watches as Viktor grabs a tiny pocket mirror from under the table and licks his ring finger, wiping away the sharp little arrows under his eyes and the smudges of mascara and eyeliner. It almost looks like he is gearing up for war, his expression more serious with each second. Yuuri feels drained and angry and there is too much of everything.  
  
Viktor slips into his high heels and stands up, heading towards the door but something stops him and he turns round, smiling over his pale shoulder, gently almost.  
  
„You said you like my hair, right?“  
  
And he wiggles his fingers under his hairline, and Yuuri doesn‘t understand what happens when Viktor‘s hair gets longer and longer until he holds it all in his hand.  
  
„It was getting pretty hot under that,“ he says and plucks off a thin net off his head, revealing short platinum blonde hair that catches the blue light like a halo.  
  
Viktor throws his wig against Yuuri‘s chest, and he is too surprised to not catch it. He holds the almost perfect hair he admired for years and years in his hands, thinks about the time he wanted to run his fingers through it, thinks about the times he wanted to tug on it, and now he holds it in his hands and it feels like he holds a part of himself, a dream that should‘ve been never come true.  
  
His world tilts and tilts _and-_  
  
„Treat it well, wigs are expensive.“  
  
And while Yuuri holds this hated, beautiful perfect thing in his hands he thinks about how this simple wig embodies all the betrayal. How even since their very first meeting Viktor lied to him, was fake and pretending.  
  
„ _Katsuki-san,_ “ he says, one hand delicately against the dark door frame, smiling like a winner.  
  
„I promise I‘ll blow your mind.“ he says and blows a smacking kiss in Yuuri‘s direction. The door closes loudly behind him with a finality that makes Yuuri hope this is all a bad dream.  
  
The wig is whiter than bones in the blue light.  
  
A couple of seconds later he finally testes how soundproof the room really is as he throws the wig across the room with a screech that lasts so long it makes his throat sore.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so dead
> 
> Okay I think I need to clear some things up. Yuuri and Viktor may seem really oc here but I swear this will all be cleared up, especially when their pasts get revealed and I swear it will be more in character later on. And please keep in mind that Yuuri is an extremly unreliable narrator, I can't say enough how important this is for this fic! Also, Viktor and Yuuri speak Japanese here that's why I pointed it out that he spoke this one sentence in English. Also, I'm doing my research so I know that some things may seem strange and don't fit in with the things that are normal, but please know that this chapter was the build up and things will get explained.
> 
> I don't think I will be able to keep up writing such long chapters, and the updates will be very unregular since I'm writing another fic simultaneously with this one, but I won't abandon this!! And the title may change over time, so please keep that in mind!
> 
> But honestly I'm laughing so hard I put a fucking Hannah Montana reveal in my super serious Mafia fic why am I like this
> 
> Thank you for reading ♥♥♥


End file.
